by E. M. Foner
“Call,” Flower interrupted. “I would have raised, but at the rate you people play it would have turned into the last hand of the night.”
“My own cards are acceptable,” M793qK said. “Now who wants what?”
After the Dollnick AI’s complaint, the rest of the betting went smoothly, with Baa eventually taking down the pot, thanks to drawing an outside straight. After an uneventful hand of seven-card stud dealt by Jeeves and won by Flower, Baa chose to revisit five-card draw, which had been established as her lucky game. She dealt slowly, as if she regretted the loss of each card from the deck.
“If the Stryx don’t want to pick EarthCent employees anymore, I could do it,” Flower volunteered, her winnings from the last hand having produced a marked improvement in attitude. The bot she controlled finally stopped fidgeting and executing empty shuffles, much to the relief of Aainda, who hadn’t wanted to call out the testy AI on its unconscious behavior. “Just send me the criteria and I’ll start harvesting candidates from my schools.”
“Aren’t they a bit young?” Herl pointed out.
“You have to start young if you want to train them up right,” Baa said. “In my experience, good diplomats are made, not born.”
“I beg to differ,” the Vergallian ambassador objected. “The best diplomats are made in equal parts from professional training, vocation, and family. Of the three, only the professional training can be taught.”
“Discovering their true vocation is as difficult for some Humans as finding suitable mates,” Herl observed.
“It’s biological,” the Farling contributed, taking a sip from his beer. “Their reproductive systems are built for speed rather than endurance.”
“Hey, just because I folded my hand doesn’t mean I’m not here,” Joe reminded them.
“There’s something to be said for rapid reproduction,” Jeeves ventured, peering at his cards as if he expected them to morph like a Horten rainbow deck. “Especially if somebody’s daughter starts designing baby clothes.”
“To go with her new line of maternity clothes?” Dring asked. “Dorothy stopped in just a few days ago to seek my opinion about hand-stitching decorative hems on ponchos and incorporating precious stones. I don’t claim to have a head for business, but it seemed to me they would be too pricey for expectant mothers with other priorities.”
“I’ve played with second-graders who were less chatty than you aliens,” Flower said, her patience exhausted. “Are we going to gamble or talk about what’s wrong with humanity all night?”
“You’ve been teaching your second-grade class how to play poker?” Lynx called over from the living room area.
“It’s just an expression,” Flower’s bot replied after an uncharacteristic hesitation. “Or a glitch. Forget I said anything.”
Fourteen
“Are you working on a poncho for a Dollnick expecting septuplets?” Flazint asked. “That thing will be dragging on the floor.”
“This is a special order for my mom,” Dorothy said, taking a break from the sewing machine. “She wants curtains for the new embassy conference room and the only human draper on the station has a three-month backlog.”
“But the EarthCent embassy isn’t anywhere near the ends of the station. It can’t have any windows.”
“Mom got a deal on some defective corridor display panels that are stuck showing exterior views, like the traffic coming in and out of the station core.”
“But all of the corridor display panels show exterior views.”
“And advertising,” Dorothy reminded her. “These displays stopped accepting the advertising feed. I asked Jeeves why they don’t just fix the interface, but he said the panels are too close to the end of their design life.”
“Then why even bother installing them in the conference room?”
“Because the design life of the panels is a lot longer than ours.”
“Oh, right. Did he say anything about, you know, using our fabric and equipment and stuff?”
“I’m sewing the SBJ Fashions logo into the corner of each drape so it counts as advertising. Besides, Jeeves would rather see me working on anything other than developing my Pregnancy Ponchos idea.” Dorothy glanced at the Frunge girl out of the corner of her eye to check her reaction to the statement, but Flazint maintained a poker face. “Going by that elaborate trellis you’ve got on your head, I’ll assume you know that Jeeves asked Tzachan to come in and talk to me about trademark issues.”
“This old thing?” the Frunge girl said, touching the hair vines that must have taken an hour to weave in place through the intricate structure. “You’ve seen me wear it before.”
“You’re a lousy liar. Zach will be here at noon on our clock so I ordered crustless pizza for lunch.”
“What time is it now?” Flazint asked innocently.
Dorothy glanced at her new watch. “Four months, two days, and—you tricked me!”
“I knew that Flower was here taking on supplies and I bet Affie you would go straight to the Farling doctor and get one of those countdown-to-delivery watches.”
“I did not go to the Farling doctor. He stopped by our cargo container when he came to Mac’s Bones to play poker.”
A soft bell informed them that somebody was at the door, and Dorothy began to extract herself from the pile of fabric she was hemming.
“I’ll get that,” Flazint said. “You shouldn’t do anything in a hurry, you know. You’re balancing for two now.”
“And you’re worse than the beetle who warned me not to run with scissors,” Dorothy grumbled. She reached for her purse to pay for the pizza but her friend had already left the room.
Flazint returned a minute later. “It was just the food so I put it in the meeting room. Then I asked the station librarian and she said it’s five minutes before noon on your clock. Let me help you fold that up and we can get ready.”
“I don’t need to get—” Dorothy began, but the doorbell chimed again and Flazint dropped the folds of drapery she had gathered and practically ran out of the room. The ambassador’s daughter finished folding the drapes herself, marveling over the liquid-like nature of the fabric that was guaranteed never to wrinkle or need washing. Then she pushed herself up from her customized seamstress workstation and made her way down the hall to the meeting room.
“Mrs. Crick,” the Frunge attorney greeted Dorothy formally. “Stryx Jeeves requested that I speak with you about trademark issues surrounding your latest endeavor.”
“He wants you to talk me out of it,” Dorothy replied bluntly, stopping at the little kitchenette corner to retrieve metal plates and forks.
“I don’t think it will take more than a few minutes to explain the legal principles involved. Would you rather eat before or after?”
Dorothy opened the pizza box and steam billowed up from the mound of melted cheese and toppings. “This is going to take at least ten minutes to cool down to the point that I don’t get blisters in my mouth. Would you guys be offended if I had a few digestive crackers with mine? I’m supposed to eat plenty of fiber.”
“Not at all,” Tzachan told her. “I work in a multi-species firm and I’m perfectly comfortable with grains and paper as long as nobody expects me to handle them myself.
“So why is Jeeves so opposed to my Pregnancy Ponchos? I think they’re a great idea.”
“I can’t speak to the business or marketing aspects, but from the standpoint of trademarks, it would be a weak one at best. It would have no value at all on the Stryx stations, which make up the majority of your market.”
“Why not?”
“Both are common words being used in a natural manner. Some species with easy-going registrars might initially allow Pregnancy Ponchos as a trademark for a phrase that acquires secondary meaning, but that meaning is so literal that any attempt to litigate on our part would be doomed to failure.”
“But all of you loved Baa’s Bags. What could be more literal?”
“Baa’s Bags is a st
rong trademark,” the attorney explained. “The word ‘Baa’ is a personal name, and ‘bags’ can refer to any number of things in your language, from bags under your eyes, to—” here he cast an apologetic glance at Flazint, “—paper bags, to women’s purses. The phrase ‘Baa’s Bags’ therefore has a unique and distinctive meaning as the enchanted bags-of-holding being created and marketed by SBJ Fashions.”
“But nobody else is selling Pregnancy Ponchos. They’d be unique, too.”
“The product may be unique but the name is simply descriptive of the function. It’s the same as if you tried to trademark ‘High Heels’ or ‘Wedding Gown.’”
The ambassador’s daughter looked to Flazint for support, but the Frunge girl was staring at Tzachan as if the attorney had just delivered a Galaxy Prize-worthy lecture. “What if we called them ‘Dorothy’s Pregnancy Ponchos.’”
“That would be acceptable from a legal standpoint,” Tzachan allowed.
“Nobody would buy them,” Flazint said, snapping out of her reverie. “And if for some crazy reason somebody did buy them, the rest of our lines would suffer.”
“Why do you say that?” Dorothy asked.
“We sell fashions to make women look beautiful. No offence, but your ponchos make women look like tents. And if you’ve been reading Brinda’s marketing reports, you’ll know that more than forty percent of our unit sales are to girls who are just starting to date. How many of them do you think want to associate themselves with a pregnancy brand?”
Dorothy transferred some of the cheesy mound of pizza toppings to her plate and used her fork to spread a little on one of the biscuits that Ian imported specially from Scotland for Pub Haggis. “Well, Jeeves can choose between the ponchos and my fashion show idea,” she said finally. “I’m not giving up both.”
The two Frunge let out sighs of relief and turned their attention to the crustless pizza, which disappeared rapidly. The alien lovebirds soon made themselves equally scarce, and in an instant, Dorothy went from feeling like a third wheel to feeling like a unicycle. The doorbell chimed again.
“Whose idea was that bell anyway?” she asked out loud as she rose from the table.
“Affie’s,” the station librarian answered immediately. “The Vergallians have a superstition that expectant mothers who are startled by unexpected visitors eventually give birth to nervous children. The bell is just so you know somebody has entered the office.”
“I wish everybody would stop trying to protect me,” Dorothy grumbled, settling back down in her seat to finish her fruit juice in peace. “Who’s here anyway?”
“Me,” answered Judith as she entered the meeting room wearing her usual black combat fatigues. “I need to talk to you.”
“Did I do something?” Dorothy asked the EarthCent Intelligence trainer who had replaced her father at the Mac’s Bones training camp. “What is it?”
“You didn’t do anything, but you’re kind of my only female friend, other than Chance, and she’s an artificial person. I need to talk to another woman.”
“Talk about what?”
Judith slumped into a chair and rolled up her sleeve, revealing a watch that was the twin of Dorothy’s. “How could this happen to me?”
“Do you mean, like, technically?”
“No I don’t mean technically, though Bob has some explaining to do. He told me he couldn’t have children.”
“Are you sure he didn’t say that he couldn’t have children without you? I kind of remember both of you being tipsy when I recruited you for my wedding party and him saying that he wouldn’t have children with anybody else.”
“Bob’s a goof. But we’ve been living together for years and nothing. Then you talk me into getting married at your wedding, and the next thing you know I’m gaining weight like—is there any pizza left?” Judith interrupted herself.
“Just what you see. I ordered crustless for Flazint and her boyfriend.”
Judith took one of Dorothy’s crackers and attempted to scrape a little bit of tomato sauce with a half a mushroom from the empty box before giving up. “What am I going to do?” the normally unflappable intelligence agent practically wailed.
“I’ll order another pizza, with crust this time. I’m still hungry.”
“That’s not what I meant—but get pepperoni and sausage. There, do you see what I mean? I never cared about food.”
“That’s because—”
“Don’t you dare tell me I’m eating for two. And that stupid beetle doctor told me I should stop fencing.”
“That does seem like a reasonable idea. I had to give up running with scissors.”
“You’re not helping anymore than Chance did,” Judith complained.
“You went to Chance first?”
“I don’t discriminate against AI. Besides, she’s the one who has to start taking over my unarmed combat classes.”
“Come on, this is great,” Dorothy said. “Didn’t you always want children?”
“No! Did you?”
“Sure, I guess. Children are awfully cute and they outgrow their clothes so fast they’re like a designer’s dream come true. Even Jeeves won’t be able to complain when he sees how little fabric it takes to cover a baby.”
“You’re working on baby clothes already? All I have for clothes are mercenary fatigues and the bridesmaid dress you gave me. Can you let it out?”
“Not enough to make a difference, but I can let you have a poncho,” Dorothy offered eagerly.
“Is it waterproof?”
“No, it’s fashionable.”
“Somehow I doubt that. What am I going to do for the next six months?”
“The same things you did for the last six months, only slower.”
The doorbell chimed again, and this time Dorothy didn’t even start to get up.
“What if that’s our pizza?” Judith asked.
“I haven’t even ordered yet.”
“Smells like pizza to me.”
“Knock, knock?” Vivian asked from the doorway. “Are you guys busy?”
“We’re just sitting around expecting,” Judith said.
“Hey, Viv. Is that for us?” Dorothy eyed the box hungrily.
“I was hoping to have a slice or two, but yes. It’s a bribe,” the teen said, setting the box from the Little Apple on the table.
“Wow, you really need to go through our holo-training for paying off alien customs agents,” Judith said. “You’re not supposed to tell the people who you’re bribing that it’s a bribe.”
“I just came from signing up,” Vivian told her. “I’m going to start going through all the training camp courses as my Open University schedule allows. I’m thinking of a career change.”
“From what?” Dorothy asked, cracking the lid of the pizza box and pulling back sharply from the steam. “How come they’re always so hot?”
“It’s the Drazen box technology,” Judith said. “Herl explained it to me. That’s why the pizza places always ask you to estimate when you’ll get home if you pick it up yourself rather than getting delivery. They take it out of the oven early and it finishes cooking in the box. That cardboard looking circle that the pizza sits on is actually a one-shot exothermic pulp that stays as hot as a pizza oven on the top side as it solidifies while the bottom side remains cool.”
“You discuss pizza box technology with the head of Drazen Intelligence?” Vivian asked.
“He likes food.”
“You’ve never come to see me before, have you, Viv?” Dorothy observed. “Are you and Samuel having problems?”
“Never,” the girl said firmly. “I mean, yes, but not with each other. It’s school, and I don’t want to ask any of my alien friends because they’d just laugh. Somehow they all knew what they wanted to do long before they start at the Open University.”
“You’re what, now? Sixteen? Seventeen? You must have been the youngest university student on the station when you began there and you’re hardly getting old. What’s the problem?”
“My mom and Chastity had already started InstaSitter by the time they were my age and it wasn’t even their first business. My brother fills in for Tinka when she goes on vacation, and she put him in charge of our employee LARPing league. Me? I’ve spent the last couple years taking classes about running a dynasty because I wanted to prove that my family is as good as any of those alien clans that have been around for hundreds of thousands of years. I’m beginning to think it was a mistake.”
“So what do you want to do, then?” Dorothy asked. “Aside from marrying my brother, I mean.”
“I’m going to try EarthCent Intelligence. The students in my seminar suggested it because they think it belongs to my parents, and that with Samuel inheriting the ambassador job, we could combine to take over humanity.”
“But Samuel can’t inherit mom’s job.”
“Try telling that to the aliens. And it’s not like either of us wants to take over humanity either. What are you doing?” Vivian stopped and asked Judith, who was poking at different pizza slices with her index finger.
“Trying to find one cool enough to eat. Hey, did the beetle warn you about eating pizza?” she asked Dorothy.
“Only to avoid onions and anchovies when nursing. It’s fine before that as long as it’s well cooked, and we won’t have any problems on that score.”
“So what should I tell Samuel?” Vivian continued. “I don’t want him to think that I’m a quitter.”
“It’s not like you’re dropping out of school altogether,” Judith said, and then a thought struck her. “If you do quit, you could take over my fencing class at the training camp.”
“I’m going to switch over to taking intelligence courses at the Open University. I was kind of surprised, but it turns out to be a pretty popular subject.”
“So what’s the problem?” Dorothy asked. “Samuel isn’t going to give you a hard time about changing your major. He’s pretty confused about what he wants to study himself.”
